


Put to the Test

by Anonymous



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Boxing & Fisticuffs, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, POV Multiple, Paranoia, Post-Season/Series 02, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21590716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: No, seriously, Steve absolutely wants to do everything that jerk Hargrove tells him to for a week. The more he thinks about it, the more sensible the idea seems.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley & Billy Hargrove
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31
Collections: Anonymous, Harringrove Holiday Exchange 2019





	Put to the Test

**Author's Note:**

  * For [not_tozier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_tozier/gifts).



"Steve Harrington is basically completely self-absorbed." _That's if he's not trying to make up for having so little going on that he decides to suck all the personality out of a new girlfriend and fawn over her, over-the-top in every ridiculous way_ \--but Robin kept that one to herself, since there was only so bitter she should be out loud. "He's not going to notice a bet like that going down. And then I'd be stuck as your maidservant for the week."

Billy shook his cup of punch at her instead of his head, but she got his point. "White knight type, I'm telling you. Likes to be in on things like he belongs there, no matter how fuckin' little it has to do with him, and he likes to be a hero. As long as we make sure it happens in his line of sight, he'll swoop in, feed that weird ego. And you've got to act like you're really nervous. And I act like a huge jackass."

A few other partygoers laughed and stumbled past on the other side of the window that looked over their quiet, freezing spot on the kitchen porch. She took the opportunity to go quiet and squint at Billy Hargrove, since she'd had enough beer and punch for things to start getting fuzzy. Yes, going by that grin, he did know that he already was a huge jackass, famous for it throughout Hawkins High, and Middle, and probably Police Department by now. When he'd come outside about twenty minutes ago, she'd been surprised he had the teensy bit of decency necessary to smoke outside.

The evidence of self-awareness was reassuring - it made his observations about others, which basically just meant Steve Harrington, feel sounder. Enough so that Robin agreed to his plan, and they made their way to the the centre of the party. Robin made her body language huddled-in and super awkward. The last didn't take a lot - she only had to think about how dumb it was to have ditched her friends to hang out with "The Terminator" Hargrove. All she'd had to do was complain about being fed up with tripping over Steve, being a sadsack in basically the dead centre of the party, and she and Billy had had a solid topic of conversation.

"It was a very simple bet. You got a shot of the hard stuff, and you winced, band geek." Maybe Billy ought to be a drama geek. He sure could project his voice for an audience. "I told you it was a lot to handle. Fair warning, and you laughed at it! Still went for it, and _lost_. So, time to pay up."

There were hoots and shouts, the spectators reacting exactly as wished in response to their two-man performance. Robin got enough of a kick out of it that she almost forgot how shitty it would be if The Hair kept up his sulk instead of "saving her".

"No - nnnnooooo." She played up her level of drunkenness, swaying as she shook her head. "It's so dumb! You can't ... _really_ expect me to follow your orders for a week."

This time their audience hurt her ears, jeez. The mob was out for blood.

She really was nervous now. But it wasn't as much as she should be, because her curiosity kept rising. Billy actually knew Steve, what with being in with the same crowd. He had educated guesses about the local royalty, and he also thought Steve Harrington sucked; she was both vindicated and feeling like she needed more vindication.

"Oh, what the hell now, Hargrove?"

There it was. Steve was on his feet - was he trying to be impressive? upset because his pity party was too crowded by the _actual_ party? Ugh, people moved to make space for him.

Steve, Robin, and Billy now shared centre stage. Had she been acting drunk enough to get away with throwing the rest of her beer in Steve's face for butting in like this? The crowd would love it.

She was getting carried away. It would be fun, but ... it would be more interesting to stick with Billy's idea instead of taking an easy route to pissing off Steve, and less likely to get her branded as a sloppy drunk for the rest of high school and/or eternity.

"My pal ... Robin? ... and I are coming to an arrangement fair and square!" Billy announced. He knew her name - he'd got flirty and said it, like, four times before they'd got really into the topic of Steve Harrington. Billy sure did know how to come over obnoxious.

The Hair tossed his grande coiffure back as he scoffed. _Flick!_ Ugh, that flick. "An arrangement of what, slavery? Billy, the chick's hammered. You have got to know better than to hold her to that shit - even you."

Not even that many months ago, Steve would have laughed about this on the front lines of the crowd. "Just a week," Robin muttered rebelliously, sipping from her can of beer.

"Yeah, but with _Hargrove_. Next thing you know you'll have a tattoo of his face on your ass. Exactly," Steve said at the face Robin couldn't help making. "You want to like, get a ride home? I'm good to drive."

"Maybe Robin and I want to be left to our deal, Harrington." Billy came and swung an arm around her shoulders, and Robin tottered into it like a delicate baby deer. They both spilled some of their drinks, Billy swearing and Robin giggling. "For example, can't you see it in her eyes how much she'd love to pick up my dry cleaning?"

"She's not even blinking right, there's a lag where it's one and then--oh my God. OK, what is it going to take to get you to back off?"

"Sounds to me, Harrington ... like you're volunteering yourself in her place."

And Steve did. The Hair acted like he was still on his throne, secure in his imagined charm and glancing at the crowd like they were worth nothing as they cheered and laughed. Robin sauntered away as everyone got distracted and Steve tried to lay down terms and conditions - "No ass-tats, for one thing!" - but she couldn't go too far. She stayed in sight of Billy throwing an arm around Steve too, and Steve shaking him off with a really rich level of disdain.

OK, then. He wasn't completely self-absorbed. She had noticed changes since his disgusting stunt with Nancy Wheeler and the movie theatre marquee. Ugh,she wished she'd actually seen it. Anyway, not that it was hard to improve from that low baseline. Robin still couldn't begin to say what everyone else was seeing as they swarmed over to hang off his arms or strike up teasing conversations. Guess she'd keep watching, like she always had.

It was decent camouflage for her to stare at an asshole dude like every other girl did, anyway.

*

Billy waited in anticipation, and the phone call came through at 6:15 that evening. A little late according to his orders, but close enough. He picked up and grinned as his greeting was answered with a deep sigh. He told Steve to hold on and called for Max: "Hey, zookeeper. It's one of your animal companions - Harrington."

Max was surprised up till Steve's voice started squeaking over the line, and then she got her suspicions in order. She glared at Billy like she had plans to pour gasoline on his bed and flick his lighter open.

"What exactly do you mean by saying it was 'your idea'?" she demanded, and listened intently.

"Is he making you say this?" She eyeballed Billy again. This one could be more of a 'put a skateboard where he can step on it and break a bone' look.

Billy heard a "Max!" loud and clear from the other end of the line, sounding defensive. God, if he could figure out the dynamic between these two. What made her listen openly, what made him talk familiarly, how she didn't get pissed off about being told that she was wrong while he raised his voice. She trusted the guy who'd kidnapped her into the night when she'd known him a week tops, and most likely less than that. She'd got enough trust in return that he'd got between Billy and her.

She did also give the phone a look like she'd never encountered anything so stupid in her life, though. "OK, I've got it, even if it is beyond ridiculous. Bye, Steve."

As she hung up, Billy got closer so their parents wouldn't overhear him. "Are you going to stay off my case? You heard your big-kid crush. He volunteered for this fair and square."

"You are wrong about so many things, Billy." She had a way of sounding disgustingly snooty. "But you two can do whatever you want. Because I do know you have a good idea of what crossing the line means." Max stomped off, avoiding any comeback he might have.

It did a ton for Billy's state of mind, though, that his Sunday morning could start with swinging by the Harringtons' place and keeping his fist on his car horn. He'd given his servant the Saturday off to get over Friday night's hangover and start fresh. Meanwhile Steve probably hadn't drunk enough to have a hangover in the first place, and it had just been fun to imagine him dreading the coming week as he dreamt up things that Billy could do to him.

Steve burst out of his front door in pyjama pants and a sweater. Who slept that covered up? There wasn't even snow on the ground.

"Get your running shoes, Harrington. Chop-chop, I don't have all day."

"You've got some of the night too, seeing how it's the crack of dawn, so you're lucky there. But it is _so_ nice of you to inspire my neighbours to do the dirty work of killing you for your bullshit. You couldn't knock? Call ahead?"

"Running shoes," Billy told him sweetly. "I gave your order twice, Igor. Get your narrow ass to obeying."

Steve whirled around exactly as dramatic as a fourteen-year-old girl - it was painful to witness - and walked off muttering. Watching him for those few seconds, his long legs eating the distance to the front door, revealed only fear of the February cold; Billy was good with fear and trusted himself to find it. King Steve was back to being tired whenever Billy came near him - he even seemed that way most of the times when Billy caught him at a distance, weary with how far above his surroundings he was. Nowadays, after the worst had happened between him and Billy that night in November, the attitude was a lot more interesting. Another word for it might be resolute, but maybe that was making too much of it. And of Steve. Maybe not, though.

When Steve came back out, the checkered pyjama pants exchanged for a pair of tracksuit pants, a matching jacket over the sweater and the hair less slept-on, Billy settled into watching his Nikes approaching and didn't particularly move. That made it a nice surprise to Steve when Billy jerked the car ahead as Steve reached for the handle.

"Get in front," Billy told him, enjoying the scowl.

"I'm trying!"

"In front of the car. Get jogging. I need real competition on that basketball court, Harrington."

Steve nearly tore his hair out, by the look on his face - then he turned. He started running, and Billy let him build up a decent distance and then started driving behind him. He did so good about not jumping after the first time Billy revved the engine that it seemed all right to grant him the reward of not speeding up. Besides, there was a hypnotic feeling about the steady pump of Steve's limbs, the occasional swipes of his hand to get his hair out of his face. If he weren't wearing layers Billy would be able to see the sweat of his effort on his T-shirt, despite the damp sting of the misty air.

He was trying so damn hard not to slow, keeping an even distance from the bumper. The times when Steve slipped on the sidewalk slushy from last night's rain, he scrambled up so fast Billy only got to give him a nudge with the car on the second fall. Billy decided to be decent on witnessing fall number three, free to slow to even more of a crawl on the quiet Sunday morning. This way he could go alongside Steve and shout encouragement in an imitation of their basketball coach's voice. Steve kept up a middle finger for basically the rest of the run.

"Harrington!" Billy yelled. He felt almost delirious as he stopped the car ahead of Steve, leaving it idling. The whole gag was actually working. He'd been tossing around the idea that Steve might be over the social hierarchy enough that he wouldn't keep up his side of the bargain. Steve didn't really care about anyone at school givong him a hard time for dropping the bet ... and still, he was listening. How did this guy keep getting stranger?

Steve bent over panting for a minute, hands propped on his knees, then came back to the car. He stood by the passenger door until Billy reached over and popped it for him, ignoring that Billy had kept the driver's window rolled down. "Are you done?" he demanded as he tossed himself into the seat. "Your weird desires satisfied? Please tell me this isn't what you were going to pull with that chick, or I am going to be haunted by all the things wrong with you."

"Quit your yapping, the running's done with! Get in here and relax already. Consider that an order."

He drove Steve to his own house. The truck was gone as expected, the rest of the family off to church and probably set to make a better impression while the black sheep wasn't there with them.

He dragged Steve in and dumped him on the weightlifting bench. Billy had taken the chance of politely asking special permission to set up his equipment and leave it overnight for a morning workout with a buddy.

"I'll start you off slow, Harrington. Promise."

The grit of Steve's teeth was a sight to see.

*

Robin had been giggling to herself all weekend long, whenever the thought came up of Billy focusing his considerable douchebag powers on Steve. Why wouldn't he, right? Even if they were in roughly the same circles, Billy Hargrove wasn't gossiped about as much as he was for being a model of restraint. When Monday came around, she planned to find him during the day and demand details. Gratifyingly, Billy found her instead, and was as satisfied in telling the story of jelly-limbed Steve Harrington having to be helped to his own front door after a plausibly deniable torture session as Robin was in listening to it.

Then Billy did his leaning-in move. Flirting _again?_ Luckily, he only wanted to foster a sense of intimacy to ask, "You know how I could get under his skin a little?"

"You've already taken away his hair products, right?'

Billy made a dismissive sound. "OK, amateur hour."

"If you're in this for psychological torment, that is honestly the best place to start. And you know it, weenie."

"Might as well go for gold and make him wear a skirt to school."

"He'd only get sent home as soon as he stands up during homeroom, if not sooner. Save that for the weekend. Wait, are there any parties Friday night?"

"Maybe I will fucking throw one."

Billy looked so delighted that it counted as her good deed for the day, but Robin had another idea: "Make him cook for you. Breakfast."

"What, he cooks? Did he scramble _your_ eggs one fine morning?"

"No, and no." The line was so bad, while he looked completely genuine about it, that Robin managed to be deadpan instead of theatrically disgusted. Billy was apparently like a dog chasing a car when it came to atrocious flirting. "I do know that he would hate doing it. Mr Breakfast Bagel Each Day trying to figure out anything but being spoiled and lucky? He'd cry over the stovetop."

"That idea ... is hilarious. Little housewife Harrington. I'd run the risk of spit on my French toast, but it ought to bug him pretty damn well." Billy gave her another shining grin. "You're all right, Buckley."

*

Steve had worked over the muffins his mother had suggested as a great breakfast food the previous night, and worked pretty hard. Though they were made from a box mix there were steps that seemed simple but weren't entirely, and implied steps that you could only get if you'd done this before. Mom had helped, in a way where she insisted he learn by doing. Which, fine, that was technically the point, but he would have appreciated a demonstration or three along the way. Still - they had ended up tasty. And there were blueberries involved! Mom had been pleased when he'd decided he liked them because they made the muffins "vaguely nutritious"! Steve was by nature a sandwich or cereal guy. He could reheat like a pro. So if he had to be inducted to how weirdly hard it was to cook - or bake, or whatever the technical term here was supposed to be - then his local power-mad jackhole ought to be around to enjoy it.

Billy's car didn't show up before the first bell, and Steve vengefully ate two muffins at once as he went inside. That was four total with what he'd had before leaving for school, because he had left early to avoid standing around with his stupid Tupperware, and then that asshole hadn't shown up while Steve lurked in his car. Billy wasn't at his locker the two times during the day Steve speed-walked past, either. This was starting to feel like an epically weird, girly trial run for next Valentines Day, which had already sucked a week ago when he only got Valentines from girls he didn't know and didn't want to give out any of his own.

Steve was about to give it another try during lunch period - he was starting to like thinking of himself as determined - when Billy found him instead. Right by the cafeteria door he appeared and did his tongue _thing_ that tended to instantly dry up Steve's will to have a conversation, and in the disgusted silence said, "You know, I'm not in the mood for breakfast today, Harrington. Kinda late for that, don't you think? Why don't you give it to your good friends Wheeler and Byers instead? I'm sure they'd appreciate something extra to put more pep in their step. Look, they just showed up."

Nancy and Jonathan, walking to a table together, each with their own lunch in hand. The timing was too perfect to be a coincidence. Billy Hargrove had a busy mind when it came to making things worse.

Well. Good.

Steve put on an attitude like he was already tired of that shit as he turned to walk over - he would have been, after all, if he wasn't in dread. He could get along with Nancy and Jonathan at the same time, right? It had been three months since the ... time. Of the incident. Incidents. Of sucking. OK, no thinking of sucking in combination with dumping, that burned in the way it got his imagination going. Instead, he could appreciate how they ought to be over the worst of the PDA stage by now - most people seemed to drop it faster than Steve did.

"Hey, guys! How would you like a deeply awkward lunch?" Steve hefted his Tupperware. "With baked goods!"

"That kind of lunch is my specialty," Jonathan said, so Steve sat next to him. It would be easier to handle attempts at jokes.

"And ... you had to make those yourself, right? Billy Hargrove made you do it? Or, I don't know, buy enough for 'the team' or something..." Then Jonathan got busy digging into his paper lunchbag, and Steve had the strongest sense he'd prefer to stay there for the rest of the period. Deeply awkward indeed.

It was genuine, too, and Nancy's question came at him the same way. "Are you ready for a deeply nosy lunch?" she said, barely holding the joking tone better than Jonathan had. "We obviously heard about the thing with that--caveman Hargrove. Are you OK with it?"

She was obviously ready to whip out a rifle from the stash if needs be, her eyes all big and searching for his and - Jonathan emerged from his bag, way sooner than predicted. His house did have that dent in the floorboards where Max had swung the nailbat for her own special Declaration of Independence, a daily reminder of what her brother liked to pull ... and, of course, Jonathan had years of miserable experience with guys who liked to throw their weight around.

Steve felt like he couldn't lie.

He cracked the lid on the Tupperware for yet another muffin and said "Not really" right before taking a bite. Mmm, it was one Mom had told him to put some good cheese on for a sweet-savoury sandwich. It was a good thing he hadn't got the chance to spit into the mixture. Then he shrugged at Nancy and Jonathan's exchanged glance - one of those looks that said a lot, between two people who really got each other - and came up with more to say so he wouldn't sound whiny.

"I'm uh, kind of worried? Ever since none of us realised that things were heading south again, last November. Wait, it was Halloween, actually, right? That's about when the trouble started, right? I keep thinking, if it's that easy for it to sneak back in..."

Jonathan sniffed loudly, totally thinking of Will. Nancy tried to meet Steve's eyes, probably with the concern that came sweetly easy to her, but he tripped into a little panic instead of trying to see if he was still one of the people who could understand her looks. He shoved the Tupperware between them on the table. "Come on! I did make them on that asshole's orders, but they're good.

"See, I, uh, I'm trying kind of a strategy," Steve continued. "I can handle the, you know, more unusual, annoyingly sudden aspects of life. But I want to test how much I can handle day-to-day. It would be like training. Billy's already been training me up for basketball with his whole ... weird shit." Kind of. Steve had needed to lie in a hot bath half of Sunday and rub himself with high-end stuff for sore muscles he'd rarely bothered to crack into before.

Nancy jumped at the opening. First she snatched a muffin, like holding it allowed her permission to speak, and then went intense that way she did. "Weird shit how?"

"I mean this dumb bet," Steve said soothingly. "The training was harsh Rocky-running-up-all-those-stairs shit, but that's fine, useful, knowing that I can do that kind of thing. I can try and keep up with a level of exercise like that, and it will help to ... stay alert, stay strong, or whatever."

Jonathan finally had a muffin. "I get it. Not like I don't keep a close eye on the trees, or swing by farms around that pumpkin patch."

Then he actually took a bite of the muffins and made a hilarious face about it tasting good, at which Nancy had a bite and got the same kind of look of shock, leaving Steve laughing unexpectedly at their goofy expressions. Both even took one for each of their siblings, finishing off the batch. Steve was definitely counting this as training too.

They still had questions about Billy, but were satisfied enough after Steve told them he really thought Max and the castration thing had had an impact. That part was kind of a lie. He had been convinced Billy was going to try a hit-and-run on him on yesterday morning's run. He also didn't get into how Billy still got too close and was really intense with how he watched Steve, or how busily sadistic he suspected that guy's mind was.

Once they eased off on the worry, the awkwardness finally set in. Steve spent the quiet seconds hoping that Nancy was proud of him this time, at the evidence that he had changed for the better, too intensely for him to speak.

But there was always schoolwork to talk about, a little gossip to smooth things over until they had to get to their next classes. He hadn't spoken that long to Jonathan without the Upside Down being discussed, and it was the most he and Nancy had said to each other in months. They weren't eager to get away that he could see, and offered to help out if Billy lost his shit again.

That was like the official stamp of a good idea. Hearing about Jonathan driving around farms was a relief at a deeper level than he'd have thought - someone taking that step sounded good, but most of all it got to Steve that someone else had this feeling he had been carrying around lately. _Be ready_.

For example, he had to be ready as soon as he got to his car after school let out.

"Harrington!" Billy unperched his ass off the hood of Steve's car. "You can swing by my house at 7:30 tonight. This isn't an awful machine, but if Daddy's got something nicer stashed in the garage, I won't say no."

All this was a test to have Steve keep his head in the game, too - psychological. That was important, he was pretty sure, or dreams wouldn't be one of the things that bugged him and Nancy, or some of the kids. Getting through Billy being the way he was and not letting on that it exhausted him was part of the training. There were so many things about the ways he teased and pushed that were a mirror, showing a reflection that wasn't all that old.

"I can't see my way clear to brushing off the Harley Davidson when it comes to you, Hargrove. Sure, yeah, 7:30. For now, I have things to do." He got into the car without hurrying, though he expected Billy to take the chance to make him do some other inane thing first - but he was allowed to pull away without interruption. He checked the rear view mirror and Billy wasn't in sight. He might not have bothered to stick around once Steve turned his back.

The guy was a psychological test all on his own, for all Steve could predict him. Often he stared for too long and at other times he shrugged things off immediately. Someone shouldn't eye you so hard that their attention still crawled all over you even when they were pretending they weren't out for blood.

It had been a serious question to Steve back when his face throbbed when he breathed: What made a monster, between the damage caused by Billy Hargrove and that caused by the demodogs? It was a dumb thing to think about, a way to get worked up and nervous. Avoiding thinking of things like that hadn't helped him any either, though, so he'd spent days and nights prodding at a loose tooth with his tongue as he remembered Billy laughing at the opportunity to have a fight with him, and Billy ... maybe crying, maybe screaming as he rained down the hits. It was hazy. Billy would have killed him with bare hands, and could have meant the threat towards Lucas just as literally. The demodogs had been smart enough that one had thought Dustin was its dumbass dad, and all the rest of them had been part of a whole invasion plan and wanted to rip him and the kids to mincemeat. He had decided that Billy counted along with the other monsters of that night ... more often than he hadn't settled on that decision, anyway.

Other times it had felt significant how, since that night, Billy had practically dropped off the radar while staying in plain sight. He didn't bug any of them, Steve or the Party - to the point where these days Lucas just glared and rolled his eyes at Billy instead of watching him warily. What was all that about? Had Billy said something actually reassuring to him? Did it even count as improvement anyway? Was the Hulk-out rage the weird thing with him, or was it weird that he was calmer now? Was this another thing that could end up killing Steve?

He had to be prepared.

And he had to go pick Billy up. It didn't feel stupid like it had last night over the muffin mix. This could be a real answer - he could be working with a real monster, and that was something he needed.

At 7:26 Billy swung into Steve's car like he had occupied the passenger seat dozens of times. "Chauffeur! Good evening." A pause, and then he said, "That any way to act around your boss? Where is the bowing and scraping?"

"Feel free to lay a complaint with management. Where to?"

He got directions, but only turn by turn. It took Steve a half-hour before he fully realised that there was no real destination in mind. That was because the buildings had disappeared around them, left behind on more populated roadsides. The worst, and best, part was that he directed Steve down back roads where the lights felt far, far apart or were completely absent. You couldn't see anything out there until it was on you.

"Relax," Billy drawled as Steve kept flexing his hands on the steering wheel. The tension of waiting for worse to happen was settling in with familiarity that turned to satisfaction, though, and Steve scoffed at him.

"Harrington, I'm serious! I just want the drive, and a way to save gas money while I'm at it. Promise I'm not bringing you out here because there won't be any witnesses. Well, not for anything I do to you."

Then he ordered Steve to speed up.

And again.

Again.

It wasn't like Steve hadn't done dumber things. Besides, like it wouldn't be useful to be a better getaway driver? More than it would to learn to cook.

In the dark the speed told through the sense of the car and the road, whatever was flashing past the windows already too much of a mass of shadowed foilage to see. Something about the hum of contact felt like free flight, and it wasn't the car reacting to each bump in the road by going airborne for a second. It could be down to the simple fact that he had never gone this fast before.

Steve listened to the advice Billy cared to give, with a thundering heart and what he realised belatedly was a grin on his face, except that he ignored the part about speeding up on corners. Billy laughed at him but then whooped his dumbass war cries - the exact same as that night at the Byers home - while lifting a demanding finger at Steve, until Steve started yelling along with him, cracking his window open to feel the speed even better and howl to the night.

They skidded - it could still be cold enough for ice on the road at night, or it was the slush that was everywhere. Of course they skidded.

"What, were you fucking scared, Hargrove?" Steve said, and howled again. Billy clapped his shoulder hard with the hand not clutching the seatbelt Steve had insisted he put on - it was what would be required for the people he needed to be prepared on behalf of, and this was training - and laughed again. He complained warmly about Steve being a pussy about sticking to the speed limit as they went back to town, but it was teasing this time, with nothing meaner thinly disguised in it.

Steve would have joined in with the trash talk, but the psychological side of his training was taking a nosedive all of a sudden. Adrenaline, was the problem, or probably the lack of it.

He was shivering by the time he made it back home, though the heat had been on the whole time.

No monsters tonight - that had been two idiots having fun. Billy hadn't been that bad at all. But Steve hated that the reflection he caught in Billy tonight showed today's face, not one from last year.

*

Wednesday, as Billy instructed, Steve drew a fat wad of cash at an ATM, and a half-hour's drive further, handed it over so Billy could handle the deal on some choice weed and a couple of bottles of pills. It was an option Billy had picked mostly because he was really hoping to finally have decent weed in Hawkins, but also because it ought to get Tommy H off his back about things to inflict on Steve. If Tommy could laugh to himself about having a good time on Harrington's dime, he would ease up on all the ideas about making him streak various places or dyeing his hair or whatever.

On Wednesday, Steve also didn't say a word to him. They hotboxed the car on a quiet roadside and Steve giggled at every other word Billy said, but opening his mouth for any other response apparently made him so sad that he gave up all further efforts. He didn't protest when Billy took over driving. He got out and ran ahead of the crawling car when Billy told him to, and he got back in sobered up and, still, nothing to say.

It was a problem. It was a problem because it came combined with a sudden new tendency of Steve's to stare. There wasn't that tiredness to it, or that ... _impatience_ , that was the thing that had felt so patronising and infuriating anout Steve eventually. Now ... God, was he always going to figure this guy out too late to make it work? It was just _staring_ , brown eyes trying to figure him out first.

*

Steve had stepped over Melvald's threshold, planning to either drop dead on the spot if Joyce Byers was working and saw him shoplifting or to just ignoring Billy's dumbass orders and buying what he was supposed to, when an arm caught him around the neck.

"Just chauffeur me, Christ, it's embarrassing watching you!" Billy snarled into his ear - right into, mouth on the skin and breath tickling harshly. Steve forgot every worry he had for a second and batted Billy away like a moth, between the weird feeling of getting that much air on your eardrum and the conviction that it wasn't fair to do that to someone who hadn't hooked up with anybody for months. His face got a little hotter, and he hoped the chill in the air was enough to explain away redness.

About ten minutes passed before Billy said, "I told you to shoplift _tampons_. Imagine that bit of gossip made the rounds - because there is no doubt you'd have been caught."

A pause.

Billy tried again: "You now know either my stepmother or Max's preferred brand, and you're not freaking out the least little bit?"

That was an awful enough thought it was a little funny, and he was trying hard to avoid thinking of the mild, sweet face of Susan Hargrove--aw, damn it. Steve heaved a sigh.

There followed another silence, except for the instructions Billy gave for where to drive. It was another drive where they barely saw another car and only occasional buildings. Billy sure had learned to quiet areas fast.

"Say something, Harrington. I asked around, a couple people said you'd been mute since yesterday."

Steve gaped at him, in-between gaping at the road so they didn't fucking skid again. He'd asked? And had Steve really been quiet enough - thinking hard enough - to notice?

Billy waved a hand, _please continue_ , which was enough to get Steve to stop sitting there slack-jawed.

But Billy let himself look expectant for a split second, not long enough for Steve to muster a response. "Well?! I did mean this fucking year! Something interesting! Something relevant. Fuckin' entertain me, be worth something again, Mr Life of Last Year's Parties. If you're chauffeuring me at this grandpa-pace then you have to give me something to work with."

Relevant.

He did have a topic like that bubbling under.

One he wasn't supposed to talk about.

Oh, whatever. Everything was shit and it was supposed to be better to talk about it.

"Are you strong for a reason?" Steve asked. "I don't know. I could be off-base. But it's like, you work at it, right? You really do, with the weights. How come? It's not like you're a fitness nut, not really. You're not like the guys who make sure they check what kinds of protein they're eating, or talk about cigarettes messing with their capacity, or whatever. So do you actually have a reason, like ... when you were at the Byers house, or when you tried to walk home ... did you see anything?"

"I happened--" Billy got close to breathe the words over the skin of his cheek and ear, and Steve had a vivid image of the asshole going ahead and biting him. "--to be be completely fucked up on seriously exciting shit I didn't know the name of. Walking through the woods like that? Of. Course." He came closer, a source of heat; Steve fought the urge to grab him. "I was seeing all kinds of shit."

"What about back in California? What was there?"

Billy Hargrove reared back from him.

"I'm just ... Shit could be bad anywhere, you know. Like--the whole of America."

Nowhere towns like Hawkins where there were few people to fool. Big cities like Chicago where the superpowered could get lost in the crowd. The government was everywhere, obviously. Their escaped people-experiments could have gone all over the place, and be doing all sorts of things that messed with dimensions again. They might not know they were doing it, or be able to help it - El had been a kid not knowing what she was doing. Eleven-year-old Eleven, probably, accidentally ripping up two worlds at once, like socking someone in the face but kicking their shadow in the knee at the same time. There were at least ten kids who could have done the same.

"So I thought about it, because it really is important to think about that kind of thing, sure, that's true, even if it's a whole new angle on it - it's important to keep in mind what could be happening and how bad it gets and figuring it out, but, Jesus! Shouldn't I get to stop thinking about it sometime?"

Silence. Enough of it to feel the spit flecking his lips. To blink until the dark haze in his vision cleared.

"Well, it was a conversation," Billy said. "Not sure I'd call myself entertained, but I do get the feeling you did your best with the letter and the spirit of the law. Passing grade, Harrington. Get me home."

*

Steve should have been hungover. Look at him, the zombie shuffle, the half-assed hair - he'd showed up at school that way. The dude was basically dead inside. He hadn't questioned Billy once about why they were heading to the biggest town within an hour's drive, and might not have read the sign on the place they were parking in front of.

ROB'S GYM

The logo featuring a cartoon of a face wearing a robber's mask and holding up his hands in boxing gloves deserved comment, but no: Steve walked inside with his head hanging, too embarrassed to stand himself, after Billy gestured grandly. He changed into the shirt and tracksuit pants Billy had in his gym bag with an actual thanks.

It could have been worse. Steve wasn't panting for breath like he'd run a mile. Not one tear down his face to get swiped out of the way when he finally noticed them. That was probably a plus.

Even if the way he'd got yesterday was ... fascinating. It had made itself a dream after Billy had refused to think about it all afternoon. Once he'd woken up he'd been unable to stop thinking of it: Steve's questions, crying, theories, and steady hands on the wheel.

They both listened to the Rob guy who owned the gym at first, taking in instructions for how they should ideally tape their hands, always use gloves because of the damage bare-knuckle boxing could do, take care how they held their wrists when they struck the bag. One held their punching bag for the other while Rob demonstrated to each of them the ways to make a punch count - like Billy wasn't the expert. He played polite young man for his turn, though, and stared at Steve after - seeing him go paler for a minute, there, and then look intense about it all like he planned to go in for a kill in the not too distant future, awake for the first time that Billy had seen today. 

He put in his punches first, listened to the soft grunts Steve gave when Billy managed to make the bag and him move, running over and over his plan in-between each little noise. Then he gave it a few quiet moments for Steve to throw punches before he tried what he wanted to.

"They're coming for you," Billy said.

He decided to avoid any description. That way Steve could shape things into whatever it was that Billy was sure terrified him. Terror! This guy had got to the point of actual terror, somehow, somewhere, and it was something that could have been Billy's but wasn't, never would be.

"Now. They're ready. They know what to look for. They know you. And they're coming. Fast and direct, no fucking around. Hit right - make it count. There's nothing, absolutely nothing, you need more."

Billy had to take a break to catch his breath against the impacts he felt through the bag.

"You have to remember. Every second. There's no room for anything else. You know that. None of it is never going to stop coming at you."

Billy had to drive them home. Rob had been very concerned about Steve dropping to the ground like that, but since loss of consciousness wasn't a question he just waved them off after a few minutes of Billy earnestly assuring him he'd make the drive back home.

He had to crank the radio in Steve's BMW high - good sound, even if the local stations left a lot to be desired - to avoid staring in the rear view mirror at Steve lying on the back seat. He couldn't stand how right he'd been. How well he knew Steve Harrington. He stopped the car in Steve's drive and then got out and started to walk to his place.

*

Steve didn't let Billy make it far.

"Get in! Get the fuck in!"

Not that they drove anywhere after that. Steve pulled over as soon as he got them out of view of his neighbourhood, then ground his heels into his eyes as he put himself back together again.

"How come you get it?"

He probably wasn't supposed to ask. Stuff like this had to be secret, didn't it? Or easier to keep a secret than doing anything else with it. 

"Get what?" Billy sounded innocent, bored, and then he wrenched one of Steve's hands away from his face. "Fuck, what is with this nervous breakdown?"

Steve decided, the way an animal or a baby would probably decide, to hold his hand. It wasn't that Steve's hands were shaking - training had been good for that much. They did feel like they ought to be.

"Harrington," Billy breathed. "What are you...?"

"You get it. I can't... Anyone who gets it shouldn't be left alone with it. I guess. I..." _think that's the reason I'm staring at you like this. Maybe it's why you're doing the same thing._

Like it was an experiment, Billy took his other hand away too. Then he just held it, a gesture on its own, too much time passing for it to be anything but that. He let out a softer, more intense version of his speeding cackle as Steve rolled his eyes and didn't let Billy go. What, like he could?

Billy pushed the boundaries, because of course he would, and Steve let the cold of adrenaline rush out into the warm palms smoothing over his hair, down to skin. Billy gripped both his shoulders and looked too intense, like usual. Steve unbuckled his seatbelt and pressed his face against Billy's neck. If he tried to kill Steve again for a few kisses, down the collarbone and then trailing up, then Steve was readier for it this time.

In spite of Billy. Because of Billy. Either way, and whether or not Billy had any clue either, he hauled Steve over into his seat anyway, their mouths barely parting the whole time, to try and find space for the both of them together.

It was far easier than it should have been.


End file.
